I cannot recall making these changes... but I like em.

Lilith had no time to enjoy her conquest of the lovely seeker. She was approached immediately by one of Celine's messengers as she reached the main streets of Val Royal. He had a royal decree from her highness. She wasn't looking forward to any of these 'missions'. the entire idea still boiled down to glorified prostitution, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that she would gain secrets no common courtesan eve could, and maybe more. POWER.

The Marquis De Serge was a de botched man of some fifty-seven years; a contemporary of Celine, and a once trusted advisor. That had been thirteen years ago, just after the defeat of Corypheus, since then he had fallen on hard times as a result of poor investment decisions as well as an extravagant lifestyle, and very poor yields on his crops... his principal source of income for his family for over thirteen generations. These events changed him.

He became despondent, absent from all balls and public appearances. She had sent her personal healers, offered to nullify his personal debts, anything to get him back. He had kindly refused all entreaties to help, declaring, "I am, merely in a personal malaise... nothing more." That had been the final word she had received from him. Not one word since then... three years ago. It was he Celine wanted Lilith to 'investigate' first.

There were rumors, as always, disappearances of elven girls... like in Kirkwall; only no bodies were ever found. This drove speculation of collusion with Tevinter blood cults, trying to recapture the zealotry of the Venetory. Words of the family home now a collection location for caravans, or even dark rituals and blood magic of the worst kind. Some saying he had talked with the formless essence of Corypheus himself.

Celine wanted to reassure herself that all these allegations of her once true friend were baseless. But she didn't want to send in Chevaliers, and troops to embarrass her friend, and cause distrust among the nobility and their backers. So she sent Lilith to him as an amply filled 'fruit basket', of his favorite fruits, to coax him out of hiding.

He had a weakness for beautiful, well endowed, young women, especially if they flattered him. Celine had instructed Lilith in the art of proper flattery. If it was too flowery, it would be seen as an insult, sarcasm; too lite, and it would be regarded as disinterest, and mere courtesy; it had to feel genuine. she was playing the part of a high-priced courtesan, sent to him by Celine as an incentive to rejoin the court. She couldn't approach him any other way. He loved easy pursuits, and always did away with artifice. Lovely evening ahead, just to g et a preliminary meeting with him and set up later 'dates' to investigate further.

She hoped he was fast and easy to tire. She knew enough of the upper class to expect anything close to a mutually satisfying experience from the men. She was sorry it was the Marquis and not the Marchioness. Still, if he considered it a point of pride for him, he may keep at it till... fat chance. She adjusted her silk and lace dress to accentuate her exceptionally large, full breasts even more.

Lilith knew she was expected to fulfill his sexual desires, no matter how dark, and appear to enjoy, or be repulsed, whatever the role required. there was one upside: the Marquis owned some of the lushest vineyards in all of Thedas and was known to host lavish parties at them for tasting the finest vintages. She was grateful for this... she could at least be inebriated for it if he proved to be unsavory, or smelled too much of ennui, or despair.

She was driven by carriage to his palatial estate in the rich north eastern corner of the empire and let out before the massive castle that was his family home. The windows, save one, were blackened. The one lit one was high up in a tower: warm, bright orange firelight issued against the night sky from behind the grimy glass panes. She stepped to the main entry, an official invite from Celine to a private party in honor of his considerable contributions in helping the Inquisitions efforts during the Heralds aid to her armies during the civil war was tucked invitingly between her breasts.

She was aware of hidden eyes looking her over from the darkened corners of this once bustling fortress. She was used to it. But still, something was wrong. She walked deeper into the main courtyard. She was reminded her father's ancestral home, Highever, and wondered if her long murdered aunt and cousin had come from this region. This contemplation lasted only a moment as the massive doors before her suddenly swung open as she approached. She took a deep breath and walk into the vast darkened space beyond.

She had gotten as far as a set of huge staircases flanking a massive hearth, when the fire burst alive in the heart of the cold, cobwebbed fireplace, illuminating the dust and dank enshrouded entry hall in which she stood. She was stunned, and hopped away, causing her barely concealed breasts to bounce almost free, then jiggle enticingly in her sheer, low-necked, silk dress.

"Pity," a high-pitched, shrill voice said before giggling licentiously from the top of the stairs, "if it had been a little brighter, your beautiful, huge breasts may have bounced right out of your dress. What an unfortunate incident... or would it be?"

Lilith turned to see a gray, blotchy-skinned man of some fifty years, his open, salivating mouth licked eagerly by an equally off-color tongue that he hung out and wiggled at her playfully.

He wore high-end silk and gold embroidered leisure clothes, and he was adorned with gold and jewels of the highest rendering; but his wild, staring eyes, and his almost claw-like hands... something was very wrong.

"The empress thought you might like me," she said playfully, placing her palms together in her lap, and squeezing her upper arms against the sides of her lovely, large breasts, causing them to bunch together even more... she was sweating profusely from anxiety.

He stepped to her, his wide eyes staring straight at her breasts in undisguised lust, his drool dripped freely on them. He smirked, "Woops, allow me, mademoiselle," he sighed, and eagerly rubbed the breast where the drool had fallen with his filth smeared fingers.

She tried her best not to blanch from revulsion at the sight and smell of his body odor, the slimy feel of his touch - Had he been rolling around in excrement?

He was oblivious to her disgust, his entire focus on her ample breasts and the wonderful feel of the soft, yet firm ample mounds of warm flesh as they rose up between his eagerly squeezing fingers.

She was expecting some degree of decorum from him, but a complete lack of any social restraint was not what she expected at all. She still needed to appease him... get him to talk. If that failed, she would try to get at his veins, though what would be 'true' in this possibly diseased mind was uncertain. She let him do as he willed to her... for now. Perhaps willing compliance would suffice for flattery. She swallowed hard and feigned a smile of appreciation for his graceless pawing.

He was soon tired with the feel of the silk and decided to taste her 'fruits'. He took hold of her shoulder straps and pulled the dress to the floor.

She stood all but naked before his madman's eyes, the letter fell to the floor... ignored.

He smiled an impossibly wide grin, and took her hand almost gallantly, "Shall we retire to the kitchen?" he asked politely, his grinning mouth dripping free with drool.

She nodded. Her eyes almost watering from his stench; how was he oblivious to it?

He smiled even wider and stepped just behind her to grab and rip away her last stitch of clothing: her lace fringed silk undergarment about her hips.

Ten minutesand five lengths of silk cord about her wrists, ankles and over her eyes later, she was finally free of his smell as he walked out of the room, leaving her naked and alone, her womanhood bare, newly shaved clean by him, and to her surprise... it was very wet and eager to be played by him some more; if not claimed by him.

All the gentle teasing with the cold steel of the razor, the warm, soft cloth to ready her sensitive skin before the shave; and his surprisingly competent, and gifted ministrations to her nether lips as he played the blade over them. Her expectation of him was considerably improved, and on a very real level, she was not entirely disgusted at the prospect of him inside her.

She waited.

Minutes passed in the soft heat of the hearth, the scent of the meat roasting on a spit inside filled the room.

Fingers, gentle, probing, hesitant, touched the sole of her right foot. she smiled at the ticklish sensation. Warm lips kissed her toes lightly as the fingers gently caressed her arches, her ankles.

She was relieved, and more than a little aroused... the man knew the surest way to a woman's pleasure point was best reached slowly, gently, teasingly. perhaps she might enjoy herself after all.

Her body prepared itself. her hips rocked gently, her labia grew moist and swollen in anticipation, her skin became more receptive to touch, and her pearl blossomed beneath its fleshy hood. She knew she was going to have an amazing night. She had not even noticed the diminishment in the stench.

The fingers found their way up her right thigh gently. She gasped as they deftly caressed her inner thigh; touched the creases of her sex delicately, intoxicatingly lightly, before moving up her hips, over her pubic bone, her trembling belly, her expanding ribcage, her sensitive breasts, eager for the rough touch.

Other hands joined the first, eagerly roaming over her naked, aroused flesh.

She became nervous, even as the strange hands elicited gasps and sighs of genuine pleasure from her body... who were they? what was happening here? Were they a secret society of pleasure seekers? Were they Orleanian? Did they know her from the parties? Or were they a blood cult?... worse?

She gasped audibly as finger deftly caressed her wet folds as others gently opened her labia. She arched her back off the table as an entire woman's hand slid slowly inside her body, filling her entirely, and began sliding in and out of her till she yelled aloud. Soft lips covered her open moth and an eager tongue found her own as it styphulled her scream. Her sweet torture was only beginning.

There was no hesitance in the hands as they rapidly sent her beautiful body rolling into unending waves of pleasure as mouths, tongues and teeth joined in the fun, tasting, sucking, lightly biting, and tugging on her every private piece of her body. They were especially relentless toward her sex, and the things they did to her engorged clitoris almost caused her to swoon.

Tears of joy soaked her silk blindfold as her body, flushed with endorphins writhed in the unending pleasure rolling through it. Even when the pain was added, she only gasped louder and came more frequently as it added another layer of intensity to the experience to the sensations assailing her.

Hours uncounted passed as she writhed on the table, saturating it with her sweat, saliva, and vaginal secretion. She was panting as the hands finally vanished from her skin. She was almost depressed. Then she felt a cold, hard blade against her right breast, mutterings in an ancient, dead language, then the sudden rush of panic as the blade was positioned just above her. She opened her mouth to scream, for what she couldn't think, the silk bound her wrists prevented her from focusing her spells, she was lost. Then a sudden brush of hard, cold armor upon her breasts, the blade scratching her abdomen as it was snatched away by a steel-gauntleted hand.

"Sorry I can't take longer with you , you Tevinter skank," she heard her father snarl from just above her, then the wet crack of tiny bones was followed by the brief gasping of a quickly crushed throat.

"Kill these whores!" her mother's voice growled as she was suddenly covered by a thick cotton sheet.

Warm sticky liquid sprayed across her face... blood.

She gasped out her breath, "Leave one alive," she cried in desperation, "I'll kill that one. And find the Marquee... He should be easy to find, follow the stench."

Her mother untied her bonds, removed her blindfold. "Are you alright pretty girl?"

"How are you here?" she asked as Morrigan hugged her close.

"You were followed by a 'Tevinter hunter' named Fenris. He saw the messenger from Celine vanish into a lyrium warehouse on the dock. Odd place for the personal messenger of the Empress to go, so he followed after contacting an old friend now with the Inquisition. We got the message from carrier pigeon. "

Lilith climbed from the table, her legs unstable.

Morrigan smiled weakly, "Still taking risks," she sighed as she wiped her daughter's face of sweat.

"I failed," Lilith sighed.

Morrigan smiled and once more hugged her child, "No," she whispered, "We underestimated the size of the threat posed by the Tevinters we killed. They were a small piece of a far bigger threat. We need to get bigger to bring them down. We need more people, more eyes, more fists. I want to introduce you to a few old friends of your father and mine. After we take out this trash"

...

The Marquee had run as fast as he could out of the house when the familiar face of the Hero of Ferelden appeared at the top of the stairway, blood saturating his armor. He wasn't about to ask how he found the house, entered without being noticed, or where the Freeman mercenaries he had hired to protect the grounds had gone, he just ran.

He was panicked, terrified. He should have recognized the girl's beautiful eyes; but no. He was too interested in offering her beautiful flesh to the pleasure demon who owned his soul through her cult priestesses. Idiot! Now he was going to die for his stupidity at the hands of a legendary dragon slayer... the girl's father.

He was just about half the way to his stables when he felt the blade in his gullet. Where had the killer come from? there was no one there a moment before. The rogue smiled in his face as he thrust the blade into the Marquees heart, "Saris doesn't tolerate failure. The only reason you are getting a quick death is that none of those brainwashed bitches in there know squat. Goodbye Idiot." He pulled the blade across the dying man's abdomen, spilling his entrails across the ground before vanishing again.

The Marquee stared straight ahead, the light in his eyes fading as the powerful hand spun him forcibly around, spilling the rest of his entrails across Aeden Couslands heavy armored boots before his body dropped to the ground of his family estate, ending it's proud name in disgrace.